


Two Is Better Than One

by raineraine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, F/M, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Feels, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, POV Alternating, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Wakanda, based on art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 03:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: How will Steve and Natasha cope without Bucky? And how will they navigate murky waters when they can all finally be in the same place?





	1. Nat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/gifts).



> The title is taken from the song “Two Is Better Than One” by Boys Like Girls (which is somehow almost 9 years old already). 
> 
> Written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, and based around incredible artwork by hopeless--geek (see Chapter 3).
> 
> Endless thank yous to h34rt1lly, as always, for being my patient and kick-ass beta. 
> 
> I am mercilessly shunning most of Infinity War for the purpose of this fic, other than Bucky’s new arm (as debuted in the trailers), Nat’s new hair, and one location reference. A mix of MCU (up to/around Black Panther), comics, and my own wild headcanons.

After Thaddeus Ross had imprisoned Sam, Scott, Wanda, and Clint in the Raft Prison, Natasha knew that someone had to come for them. It was too big a risk to try to free them alone. Tony had made it clear, with his cutting remark about “the whole double agent thing,” that she would be wasting her breath barking up that tree. That only left one man: Steve Rogers. The last time she’d heard a breath about Steve was from T’challa, who couldn’t promise that he would spare Steve’s life if Cap stood between him and revenge on Bucky. 

 

Steve’s voice had come over the comms, strained with worry as he issued a warning to keep Tony, and any government agents, away from the landing pad. When Steve came stumbling down the gangplank, one arm hooked over T’challa’s shoulders and the other around Bucky’s waist, Nat knew something fundamental had changed. Now was not the time to ask what happened in Siberia, not with a scorched stump where a metal arm should have been. 

 

Natasha couldn’t relax the stiffness in her spine as she watched them. James hadn’t even cast a her a backwards glance, barely stumbling onto some jet of T’challa’s. “I have to go,” Steve said firmly, his eyes brimming with apologies that she knew he’d spill out later. T’challa exchanged hushed words with his companion, who Natasha now knew as Okoye, before she nodded sharply and disappeared into the depths of the jet. Explanations that had to wait until later seemed all too distant, with nothing but roaring engines and gusts of winds left as they disappeared. 

 

Later never seemed to come. The next time she saw Steve, he came with an entourage of their previously-imprisoned team members. Just when Natasha thought he had it all together, Steve’s jaw had clenched when Wanda asked him where Bucky was, making it all too clear that Steve was far from fine. That gave her reason enough to table the subject— still, she wondered. 

 

* * *

 

**Edinburgh, Scotland**

 

_ Six months _ , Natasha thought as she watched Steve mark off another day on the calendar.  _ Six month since Steve left him in Wakanda.  _ Maybe “left” was a bit unfair. The way Steve told it (and why would Captain Stand-Up-Man lie?), Bucky had made his own decision— to be put back in cryo freeze until someone could fry the trigger words out of his brain. 

 

The Winter Soldier would have never trusted a stranger. 

 

James Buchanan Barnes would have trusted anyone that Steve named a friend. 

 

It was a pity that no one, including Bucky, seemed to know which side of the coin he was anymore.

 

Nat shoved back from the cramped dining table, side-stepping Wanda to get to the sink. The apartment she’d procured for them in Edinburgh may have had two more beds than she’d expected to end up with, but the layout left a lot to be desired. It came furnished, overflowing with far too much furniture for the tiny square footage, leaving everyone constantly tripping over each other. Her elbow jabbed Steve’s ribs when he turned a bit too quickly away from the wall, pinning her between him and the sink.    
  


“Shit, Natasha, I’m so—” Steve began, taking a step back straight into the window bench. “I thought you were still at the table.”

 

Nat held up her bowl in response, dropping it into the soapy water. They’d only been here for two months and she was already fed up with the near-daily routine of everyone tripping over each other. “Are you leaving?”

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, glancing at where Sam was leaning against the doorframe. “We need groceries.”

 

“I will go,” Wanda announced from her chair. “Anything to get out.”

 

Natasha watched as Steve’s mouth opened and closed, words dying in his mouth, before he gave a nod of mock-consent. Wanda didn’t need anyone’s permission, not anymore. 

 

“Bring me back more coffee,” Nat requested as she deposited her bowl on the drying rack. She glanced at Steve with a raised brow. “Are you staying, then?”

 

Even with his recent (and terrible) habit of micromanaging, Steve knew better than to tread on the moments that Wanda wanted to exercise freedom. “Buddy system,” he conceded. “No one goes alone.” Steve pulled the grocery list from his jacket pocket, dropping the folded square in front of Wanda’s plate. 

 

Sam plucked the list off the table. “I don’t trust any of you to bring back the right orange juice.”

 

Wanda punched Sam’s arm lightly before slipping out into the hall for her coat. “We go. Be back in, shall we say, an hour?”

 

“An hour,” Steve affirmed. “Take your phones.”

 

“Careful,” Nat taunted from the coffee pot, “he’ll be watching the clock to the minute.”

 

“Then we better get moving!” Sam tugged Wanda out the door. The sound of a key in the lock, followed by a jiggle of the handle, signaled their departure. 

 

Natasha waited until she could no longer hear footsteps down the corridor before she set her coffee cup back on the counter. 

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question, and she wasn’t about to leave Steve the wiggle room to argue. “For the past two weeks, you won’t be alone with me. It’s bad enough that we’re all cramped in this tiny apartment, where there’s hardly any room to get away in the first place, but you’re constantly making excuses. What aren’t you telling me? Or them?” 

 

“It isn’t like that, Nat.” Steve ran a hand through his hair before shoving both of them in the pockets of his jeans. 

 

“Really? Then what is it like, Rogers?” She watched as he flinched at her bitter tone before continuing on. “I know you’d rather be in another fucking hemisphere, but we’re all you have right now, unless you’d like to be tried for treason.”

 

Steve’s gaze lingered on the calendar. “His birthday,” Steve said softly. “He spent his birthday in ice.”

 

Nat’s eyes flitted away from Steve to check the date: March 25th _.  _ Almost two weeks to the day, with not a single mark denoting March 10th as anything significant. Two weeks of Steve’s avoidance, all summed up by the same man who had been on Natasha’s mind. “I should have remembered,” she lamented. “How could I not?”

 

“When was the last time you spent a birthday with him?” Steve asked absently, turning away from her to gaze out the window. 

 

“After the Red Room.” Nat padded on socked feet to the window bench, slipping onto the seat and leaning back against Steve’s torso for support. It would be easier to talk about James if she didn’t have to see Steve’s face. “After he helped me escape, that is. We spent four months together before… Well, that’s not important.” She drew in a shaky breath before pressing on. “He didn’t remember his birthday, and I didn’t remember mine either. When you’ve had everything taken from you, you start to make things up. We celebrated on Christmas Eve, both of our birthdays, with a cake James stole from the biggest bakery in town. It was decorated with poinsettias.” Nat snorted at how absurd it sounded aloud. 

 

“How did you find out his birthday, if he didn't know it?” Steve interrupted softly. 

 

“I found out later, when I joined SHIELD. There were certain privileges to high security clearance. His military file being one of them.” Natasha hadn’t moved from her position, her back pressed against Steve’s thigh and her head nestled against his ribs. “What about you? When was the last birthday you spent with him?”

 

Steve coughed, the movement jostling Natasha, before clearing his throat. “I don’t think you want to hear about that.” 

 

“Why?” Nat demanded with suspicion. “I thought we were bonding, Steve. Come on.”

 

Steve stepped back slowly, letting Natasha readjust, and pulled up one of the kitchen chairs. Flipping it backwards, he crossed his arms over the back, meeting her eyes as he spoke. “Because,” Steve went on slowly, “that was the first time Bucky and I were able to celebrate without worrying about me  _ dying _ .”

 

Nat swung her legs over the edge of the bench, peering at Steve with interest. “Say what you mean, Steve, or I’m going to say it for you.”

 

“It was the first time we had sex since the serum— Jesus, Natasha, are you happy now?” Steve groaned in exasperation. He could feel the flush in his cheeks already. 

 

“Nope,” she snickered, “because I haven’t heard how it went.”

 

It was either a blessing or a pity that Steve hadn’t been drinking anything at that moment. Natasha was sure it could have been the spit-take of the century. Instead, his mouth kept snapping open and shut as he stammered. “Y-you. Natasha. W-we are  _ not _ having this conversation!”

 

“Why? Afraid my stories could top yours?” Nat goaded. She leaned forward until they were little more than a breath apart, lowering her voice despite the emptiness of the room. “I have plenty of them I could share.”

 

Steve didn’t flinch, to his credit. “Only because you didn’t have to hide,” he hedged back. 

 

Natasha’s laughter was sharp. “We had to hide every fucking day. Madame B would have killed me if she had caught on, or had his Hydra handlers murder him in front of me to teach me the consequences of attachment. How do you think I became good at hiding how I feel, Steve?”

 

“They would have discharged us from the Army,” Steve recalled, “and before that, if we so much as looked at each other too long in public, there always seemed to be someone waiting to beat the living hell out of us.”

 

“You’re avoiding his birthday, aren’t you?” Nat slid her hands from her knees to rest on Steve’s. “I wanted to hear about it.”

 

“I’ll tell you mine,” he said smartly, “if you tell me yours.”

 

“I asked first!” Natasha groaned. 

 

“You said you had plenty to share.” Steve shifted in the chair, squaring his shoulder as he spoke. “Don’t back out on me now.”

 

“Are we seriously swapping tales about our lover-in-common right now?” Nat feigned shock, smirking at Steve. “What a way to commemorate his birthday.”

 

“He would have told them with more filth than I could ever muster,” Steve conceded. “So I guess we are.”

 

Natasha stretched her arms above her head, letting her hair bunch around her shoulders before shaking it away from her face. “Maybe more than you could muster. I could go toe to toe with him,” she licked her lips before continuing, “among other body parts.” It would have been easy to keep going on like this, if only to watch Steve squirm in his chair, but she’d promised a story. “I’m not going to tell you the birthday story. The most exciting thing that happened that night was some well-placed frosting.”

 

Steve frowned. “That’s not what we agreed to, Natasha.”

 

Holding up a finger, she smiled at his pout. “We promised  _ a _ story. I have lots of them, remember? The time we fucked in an elevator, even when other people got on, that was fun. Or maybe the time he tied me in the corner of our boxing ring, right in the middle of a spar…” Nat flashed Steve a wicked grin. “Which one would you like to hear about, Steve?”

 

Swallowing roughly, Steve shifted again, planting his feet wider apart. “I— Maybe the— Um— Spar.”

 

“If you insist. It is one of my favorites, after all.” Natasha met Steve’s eyes, wanting to hold his attention as she spoke. “We stayed late one night, in the Red Room— this was a few months after he arrived as a trainer. From the beginning, James took a special interest in me. They must have thought it was because of my ‘potential.’ Maybe it was, at first. Not that night. He was pushing me harder, to limits that I couldn’t reach back then, and demanded I stay until I could perfect my kicks.” 

 

Steve pushed up from his chair, rocking back on his heels and wringing his hands. “Were you scared of him? The Winter Soldier?”

 

Natasha watched Steve’s fidgety movements, wondering if he had only asked to distract from them. “I should have been.” She tilted her head back, forced to look up at Steve now that he stood at his full height. “But he didn’t scare me. For the first time, I had an equal.” Nat couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. “Even when he punished me for imperfection, he was the only person who could put up a fight against me. I loved that about him. Maybe that’s why I let myself get attached.”

 

“What happened that night?” Steve asked throatily. 

 

“He asked me to do the kick, again and again. Each time he would move away at the last second, making me miss him, and fall. I expected it, but couldn’t move faster. Then he caught my foot— right there in the middle of the ring— and told me that it was useless. I told him I could do better. He ignored me—at least, I thought he did. He just kept shaking his head and stepping closer, until he had me cornered. I should have realized it was happening, but I didn’t until he had had me right where he wanted me.” 

 

“Then?” Steve pressed, slipping his hands in his pockets. “You said he tied you to the ring.”

 

Nat nodded. “He did. Once I realized I was cornered, I was too busy thinking of the best way to get around him, and not keeping my eyes  _ on  _ him. James hooked my arms around the corner post and tied my hands behind my back, faster than I ever thought he could move. He must have been holding back all night long.” She shivered involuntarily. “He told me if I got out of it, I’d win.” 

 

“Win what?” Steve’s voice was hardly a whisper. 

 

“He didn’t say,” Nat allowed, “so I decided I’d claim my own prize. I was out of the rope in less than thirty seconds. And all I wanted was him.” She let her gaze slip to Steve’s hands, still buried in his pockets. “I told him I wanted my prize. He didn’t move, didn’t stop me, when I dropped to my knees.” Dragging her eyes back to Steve’s face, she could see that his mouth had fallen open in shock. “You wanted to hear a story. Should I stop?”

 

“No!” Steve growled. “Please,” he added quietly, pushing his hand deeper into his pocket, “keep going.”

 

Natasha pushed off of the bench, stepping close enough to Steve that their chests brushed. “If you insist,” she whispered. “He was hard before I ever touched him. I could see his cock, straining in his pants, and I only knew that I wanted to touch him. The program didn’t let us out of their sight long enough to get laid.” Nat took a deep breath. “James. . . was my first.”

 

Steve’s face had morphed from shock to awe in the span of that sentence. “I didn’t realize that he was for you too.”

 

“Too?” Natasha blinked, pulled out of her memory. “He was yours. Too. Of course.”

 

“Don’t know that I was his,” Steve said earnestly. “Never made me look at him any different.”

 

“And me,” she challenged. “Do you see me any different?”

 

One of Steve’s hands slid out of his pocket, creeping to rest on her waist. “Nothing could make me look at you different. Everyone has a first.” He pulled her closer, pressing her into his chest. “Better that it was him.”

 

“Here I thought I was telling a story,” Nat murmured into Steve’s shirt. Maybe if she thought about the soft cotton against her face, she wouldn’t have to call him out on the ill-disguised hard on that was brushing against her abdomen. “It wasn’t romantic. We didn’t have time for that, and I wasn’t raised on fairy tales. It was instinctual.”

 

“Weren’t you scared of getting caught?”    
  
“No,” Natasha admitted, “not the first time. All I could think about was him.” She laughed hollowly. “Some assassin, getting distracted by the kind of man they would have asked me to kill.” She shifted her weight, pressing harder against Steve as he tightened his grip around her. “By the time I took him in my mouth, I could have made him finish right then. But I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel him.” 

  
Steve’s cock twitched against Natasha. “I think you’ve told me enough,” he choked out. “I’ll tell you about his birthday.” When Natasha didn’t speak, he took it as an invitation to go on. “It took a few months after we rescued his unit to convince the Colonel to let us share a tent. Couldn’t have him getting suspicious. And tents, you know, nothing to keep the sound in.” A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Steve’s face as he kept talking. “We knew it had to be quick and quiet. The tent was risky. So Bucky got a better idea.”

 

“What was it?” Nat purred, twisting against Steve to watch his face with interest. 

 

“He found this clearing, about three miles out, on one of his patrols. We slipped out of camp, hoping no one would notice us. Seemed easier to explain being out after dark than it would be to face a court marshall.” Steve cleared his throat. “Still, it was Germany, and we needed to not draw attention. Quick and quiet was still the plan.”

 

“How were you planning to keep him quiet?” Nat couldn’t help but snort. “He isn’t quiet.”

 

“That’s true,” Steve laughed lightly, “but I have my ways.”

  
“Such as?” Natasha prompted.

 

“I told him if he couldn’t keep quiet, I would stop.” He hoped Nat couldn’t feel his hand gripping his cock through the thin fabric of his jean pocket, trying to keep it contained. The memory alone could have been enough to send him over the edge. Paired with the image of Natasha, down on her knees, and Bucky’s head thrown back in throaty pleasure, it was all becoming too much. 

 

“Steve.” 

 

Natasha’s voice brought him back to reality him out of the story, causing him to look at her for the first time since he’d began speaking.  _ Shit.  _

 

She was looking right at his groin. “You going to keep pretending that isn’t there?” 

 

“I’m not—” he stammered.

 

“—hard? Bullshit. When was the last time you got laid, Steve?” She watched his face flush again. “That’s what I thought.” Glancing over her shoulder at the clock, Nat continued, “Sam and Wanda should be back here in fifteen minutes. Show me.”

 

“Show you?” Steve said hesitantly, not sure he was following. 

 

“You said you could keep James quiet.” She hooked her thumbs through his belt loops. “I’m not quiet. Show me.”

 

“Natasha. You don’t mean that.”

 

Her fingers splayed to skim his cock through the denim. “I don’t make empty gestures.”

 

“Here? Now?” Steve swallowed hard. “We’ve never—”

 

“The more you talk,” Natasha warned, “the less time we have.”

 

Something in her statement must have been just enough to push Steve’s buttons. He slipped a hand to the nape of her neck, tugging her face upwards to meet his mouth. Nat stretched upwards to meet him, hands slipping just under Steve’s t-shirt to let her sink her nails into his skin. 

 

Steve’s moan against her mouth would have been satisfaction enough, but he pressed closer, until her back met the fridge, effectively pinning Nat under him. His hands skimmed her body on their way to the button of his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. Pulling back from her mouth long enough to speak, Steve’s voice was nearly a rumble. “You want me to show you? Turn around.”

 

Natasha didn’t need more encouragement. She turned to press her cheek against the fridge, arching her back just enough to let Steve’s hands grip her pants and tug them down. “Show me how you fucked him,” she demanded.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve had gone still. “What about— can you…?”

 

“I’m sure,” Nat panted in frustration, “and no, I can’t get pregnant, so come  _ on  _ Steve. Ten minutes. Maybe less.”

 

There was no fumbling, no awkward pause, as soon as the words left her mouth. Just Steve’s hand gripping her hips as he sank into her, coming up to wrap around Nat’s chest and draw her back to him. Each thrust was sharp and urgent, purposeful in a way that painted a picture in Natasha’s mind. Two soldiers, one with mussed hair and clinking dog tags pressed into the trunk of a tree, while the other held him steady, one hand over his lover’s mouth to keep him from slipping up. She tugged one of Steve’s hands upward, until his fingers covered her lips, slipping further and further into her daydream. “I want to watch you.”

  
Steve seemed to know what Natasha meant, pressing into her deeper than before and falling forward into the fridge. “Me— and Bucky? You— you’d want to?” 

 

“Yes,” Nat breathed. “Don’t stop, Steve. Please.”

 

A hitch in his breathing was the only warning Natasha got before Steve came, quivering against her back. She nudged him away, tugging her pants back up and gesturing for him to do the same. “Quick and quiet.”

 

The sound of voices in the hall was enough to make him straighten up, peering down at her for signs that something was amiss. “You set me up.”

 

“Maybe,” Nat dismissed with a shrug. “Or maybe the only thing we can do without him is remember him.”

 

Steve’s phone started chirping from his pocket just as Sam pushed open the door. Only four people in the world had that number, and three of them were in the apartment. Natasha knew that could only leave…

 

“T’challa?” Steve answered in surprise. 

 

Nat leaned closer, straining to hear through the earpiece. 

 

“He’s awake.”

 

Natasha watched Steve’s face light up. T’challa’s words could only mean one thing: James— Bucky— was awake. 

 

“Send a plane,” Steve blurted. “We’re leaving as soon as you can be here.” 


	2. Bucky

**Birnin Zana, Wakanda**

 

There was something about being in the wilds of Wakanda that made the century-old tension release from Bucky’s shoulders. Skimming his fingers across a broad leaf, he could see through the thinning trees ahead. That meant that he’d found it— the spot that T’challa promised had the best view of the entire city. 

 

_ “Are you sure you do not want a guide?” T’challa asked quietly.  _

 

_ Bucky shook his head. “What better way to get to know this country than to wander?” _

 

He pushed through the last of the branches, bare feet sinking into the clay of the cliff. The sun was still high, higher than Bucky would have guessed— every minute still felt like hours. Shuri may have reversed his programming, but Bucky had discovered long ago that the brain fog from long-term freezing lingered. Maybe she could have fixed that too, if he’d asked.  _ Erasing everything they had done would have been easier _ , he thought,  _ but it wouldn’t have felt like a victory.  _

 

Bucky flexed his fingers once, causing the cloaking tech (nano...something or other) that Shuri had installed in his new arm to vanish. Under the lights of her lab, it had looked different— darker, more muted. In the sunlight, the gold inlay, the subtle sparkle of the rich gray vibranium, and impeccable craftsmanship left Bucky marveling. “Almost makes up for losing an arm,” he murmured under his breath. Another flex of his fingers and the metal disappeared, replaced by the illusion of flesh that mimicked his opposite arm flawlessly. 

 

Natasha and Steve couldn’t be more than a few hours off. T’challa was expecting them to arrive before nightfall. It had been six months for them, waiting for the day Bucky would open his eyes, yet that was only yesterday for him. 

 

__ Time doesn’t stop for one man.  
  


* * *

 

Bucky could hear voices outside the door. He was focused on controlling his breathing, coaxing a steady rhythm from the shallow beginnings that signalled panic. Now was not the time to fall apart from sensory overload. It was always like this, after the ice. His brain took longer to catch up to the speed, vibrancy, and intensity of the world. 

 

Smoothing his hair down again, he took another slow breath, looking down at his embroidered tunic that T’challa had been kind enough to lay out in one of the guest rooms. Deep blue and clasped at the collar, similar to the type he saw the king himself sporting, with long sleeves and intricate gold detailing down the front, paired with a pair of black pants and simple boots. 

 

“You’re early,” T’challa’s rich voice bled through the door frame. “He shouldn’t be long.”

 

“We have time,” Natasha allowed. 

 

“Buck always did take his time getting pretty.” Steve’s voice, ending with just enough lilt to let Bucky know he was smiling out there. 

 

_ Enough eavesdropping,  _ Bucky scolded himself. He pushed open the heavy door, keeping his eyes ahead for Steve and Natasha. “Stevie,” Bucky called in a voice dripping with affection, “are you sayin’ you think I’m pretty?”

 

It wasn’t the tall, blonde, clean-shaved version of Steve from Bucky’s most recent memories who turned to greet him. Still tall, but with dark hair that was slicked back in a style reminiscent of Bucky’s own favorite from the ‘40s, and sporting a full beard. Bucky was suddenly very glad to have gotten the words out of his mouth before the sight of Steve made his throat go dry. 

 

“You’ve always been pretty,” Steve affirmed, flashing him a smile.

 

Bucky wouldn’t have recognized Natasha at first glance, but her posture gave her away. He’d never seen her in anything but the red hair that was burned into his memories, yet here she was, blonder than even Steve had once been. “That’s different, Nat” he managed, gesturing to her head. 

 

“You know how it is,” she lamented, “had to put the mission first, hair second.”

 

“Mission?” Bucky asked with a furrowed brow. 

 

“The mission of not being found by the United States Federal Agents,” Steve supplied.

 

T’challa couldn’t help but laugh, clasping Steve on the shoulder. “They cannot find you here. Stay as long as you like, Captain.”

 

“Just Steve these days, if you don’t mind.” Steve offered a hand to T’challa. “Should I call you King these days?”

 

“A king does not belittle his friends,” T’challa reminded him, clasping Steve’s hand and pulling him in for a hug. 

 

Bucky blinked at Natasha, still processing the new information. “After the airport…”

 

She met his eyes with a sad smile. “We became wanted criminals. Sam and Wanda are in Scotland.”

 

“Is it because of me?” He had to clench his hands to keep them from shaking. Natasha would be able to pick up on his nerves all the same, but better to postpone the inevitable. 

 

She looked genuinely surprised. “No, James. It’s because we broke the Accords agreement. You’re safe.”

 

Steve hesitated, looking like he wanted to pull Bucky in for a hug, but stalled a few steps short. 

 

“You gonna get over here and hug me, Punk, or stand there like someone ate your birthday cake?” Bucky crowed.

 

That was all the invitation Steve needed to pull him in for a crushing hug, one hand slipping into Bucky’s hair and the other wrapping around his waist. T’challa smiled at their closeness, undoubtedly pleased that the first thing Bucky had asked for when Shuri had finished with his head was a phone call to Steve. He would never be able to repay T’challa and Shuri for all they had done. For now, he settled for burying his face in Steve’s neck, allowing himself to be held like something precious. 

 

When they pulled apart, maybe seconds later, or perhaps minutes, Natasha was still hanging back.  _ She’s never been one for public displays of affection.  _ Still, Bucky had expected a closer proximity, not the thirty feet of leeway she was giving him. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if she was okay, but she merely pursued her lips. There was too much left unsaid to unpack at that moment, but that wouldn’t stop him from finding out later. 

 

“I will leave you three to catch up,” T’challa acknowledged. “I trust Bucky can show you to your quarters,” he noted cryptically before slipping out of the foyer.  
  


* * *

  
He didn’t expect awkward silence to swallow them whole the moment T’challa disappeared from view. Bucky shifted his weight from foot to foot, not sure what to address first— Natasha avoiding his gaze, or Steve’s burning cheeks every time Nat glanced his way.  _ The fuck is that about?  _ There was one thing Bucky knew for certain: he wasn’t going to spend the day standing there in silence. 

 

“Have either of you been to the forest yet?” 

 

Natasha shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “We came straight to you.”

 

Bucky held out a hand to her, tipping his head towards the door. “Let me show you the view. With any luck, we’ll get there right at sunset.” He flashed a smile at Steve over his shoulder. “You can see all of  Birnin Zana. Beats the cliffs of Germany by a mile.”

 

Wavering for a moment, Natasha slipped her fingers between his metal ones. “How’s the new arm?”

 

“Too soon to say for sure,” Buck said absently, wiggling his flesh-hand at Steve, “but it has a neat trick.” He released her hand for a moment and flexed, displaying the nano cloaking. 

 

“That’s amazing,” Steve said earnestly, gripping Bucky’s wrists to examine the two side-by-side. “I can’t tell them apart.”

 

With another simple movement, the skin-like appearance rippled away. Natasha was looking on with interest. Bucky reached for her hand once more, but she shook her head, merely falling in step beside him, Steve flanking his other side. Despite their arrival together, the two of them hadn’t exchanged a word, and seemed to be purposefully placing Bucky between them. 

 

Stepping outside, Bucky could see just how bright Natasha’s hair was. Her simple orange tank top and black shorts displayed stretches of pale skin that he knew well. Nat raked her hair back with her fingers, tying it back out of her face. 

 

She caught his gaze and held up her opposite hand, a spare hair tie still on her wrist. “Want me to do yours? You won’t feel as hot.”

 

Bucky blinked at her. “You want to do my hair?”

 

“If you want me to,” Natasha confirmed. “It’s long enough. I’ve never seen it this way.” 

 

Steve cocked his head to the side, watching Bucky’s face as he deliberated. Pushing his hair back, Bucky nodded to Natasha. “Do I need to sit?” 

 

“No,” she laughed, “I’m not  _ that  _ short.” 

 

The gentle pull of her fingers through his hair as she gathered it was soothing, the sound of her rare laughter making him think that maybe things would be alright after all. Steve had held him close, and here Natasha was, fiddling with his hair like it was their normal. It didn’t take long for Nat to dig a small compact out of her pocket, offering it to Bucky for a better look. She’d put his hair in a high bun, something he would have found ridiculous in theory, but that somehow softened his face in practice.    
  
“I don’t look a day over eighty,” Bucky declared as he clicked the compact shut. 

 

“Consider you’re over one-hundred, I’m going to count that as a win,” Nat said with a smirk as she tucked the compact back in her pocket. “Don’t we have a view to get to?”

  
  


Steve was doing it again— looking at Natasha just over Bucky’s shoulder, with an expression that Bucky couldn’t put his finger on. Steve caught Bucky’s quizzical look and snapped his gaze forward, feigning interest in the trees ahead. 

  
“Right,” Bucky said slowly, “the view. Let’s go.”   
  


* * *

 

At some point along the walk, Steve had unbuttoned his white shirt about halfway. 

 

Bucky caught himself staring at the peek of skin hiding between the seams and shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m wearing long sleeves, Steven, and I seem to be able to keep my clothes on.” 

 

Natasha snorted from his other side. “And I’m barely wearing a damn thing, James, and I’m still sweating my ass off. Give him a break.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything, tipping his head back in a throaty laugh before unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

 

_ He probably did it just to be a shit. Same old Steve.  _ Bucky shook his head, pushing ahead of them to part the branches. The sun had sunk lower than he wished, only a few fingers of light reaching the valley below. “Not quite the sunset I promised,” he muttered.

 

Natasha put her hand on his shoulder as she slipped past him, settling right at the edge of the overhang with her legs dangling over. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Steve hung back a few paces, barely clearing the treeline, and gave a low whistle. “If this isn’t the one you promised, I don’t want to know about it.” Tucking his hands in his pockets, Steve’s eyes skimmed the shades of orange and purple on the horizon. “Everything here is…” he trailed off, searching for the right words.

 

“More than two kids from Brooklyn ever thought existed?” Bucky offered. 

 

Natasha pulled her knees up to her chest, scooting back enough to not tumble over the cliffside. “I thought the sunset over the snow was beautiful,” she admitted quietly, “but I didn’t know how much better it would look over the trees.”

 

They watched the sun slip away until stars began to bloom in the clear skies. It reminded Bucky of the way the sky used to look, back when he and Steve were young. 

 

“You two gonna tell me why you’re not talkin’?” Bucky drawled. “Because I’m getting real sick of this awkward silence bullshit.”

 

Natasha stiffened, eyes darting to Steve. “We’re talking.”

 

“Don’t lie to me!” 

 

“We talked on the jet,” Steve stammered.

 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, turning to look at Steve. “Steven Grant Rogers, I  _ taught you _ to lie, so if you think I’m not going to see through that— Natasha, where are you going?”

 

Nat over her shoulder, eyes trained on Steve. “I think you two could use some space.”

 

Steve’s fists were clenched at his side. “No one said that.”

 

“Excuse me!” Bucky bit out, stepping between the two of them.

 

Steve threw up his hands, no longer looking angry — somehow, he looked nervous. Bucky looked between them in confusion once again, beckoning Natasha to come closer. She sighed heavily, stepping toward them once more. 

 

“Now I’m going to ask again,” Bucky said with a scowl, “what in the  _ fuck  _ is wrong?”

 

“Wehadsex,” Steve blurted out.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Steve and I had sex,” Natasha supplied, raising her chin to look at Bucky. 

 

Bucky gazed at her in genuine confusion. “When was this?”

 

Steve scratched at his beard, flushed with embarrassment. “Yesterday.”   
  


The warm air felt too heavy to draw in a deep breath. Steve was giving him a look identical to what Bucky would have expected from a puppy who just piddled on the carpet. Natasha was waiting, head held high, for him to say something. But Bucky still felt like he couldn’t breathe.  _ Steve. Nat. Together?  _

 

“Say something,” Steve begged. “Say you’re pissed.”

 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting against the urge to smack the unspoken ‘sorry’ right out of Steve’s mouth. “Pissed,” he said slowly. “Is that what you think?”

 

“Aren’t you?” 

 

He glanced between the two of them, still too many feet apart, still looking like a puzzle he couldn’t piece together. “No. I’m not pissed.”

 

Nat caught Bucky’s arm, leaning in to study his face for signs of a lie. Satisfied that there were none, she let go, still standing closer than she had been moments before. “Talk to me. James, you can  _ blame  _ me.” 

 

Steve put his hand on her shoulder, mouth set in a thin line. “You don’t get to do that.”

  
“Do what,” she scoffed, “admit that I’m the one who suggested it?”

 

“You what?” Bucky questioned at last.

 

His words seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

 

“So I just stood there and let you do it now?” Steve chastised. “I had just as much to do with this as you did, Natasha!”

 

She choked out a laugh, eyes burning with annoyance. “The only thing you did was get hard while we talked about your boyfriend, Steve. It had nothing to do with me.”

 

Steve dropped his hand, looking like Nat had slapped him. “Nothing to do with you,” he echoed sullenly. 

 

“ You two have a history!” Nat cried.

 

“So do you,” Steve hissed, “as if I could forget that!” 

 

“ Maybe you could try to remember that I’m standing  _ right here _ ?” Bucky hollered, loud enough to drown out their arguing. When neither of them but in, he continued. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re acting like children.”

 

Looking between the two of them, Steve’s chest still heaving and Natasha’s eyes still blazing, it was impossible for Bucky to be angry. All he could think about was how utterly in love he was— with  _ both  _ of them. “You’re gonna make me choose,” he whispered hoarsely. “Aren’t you?”

 

Natasha put her hand on Bucky’s face in a rare moment of tenderness. She shook her head slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t ask you to choose. I won’t.” Glancing at Steve, now close enough for her to touch, she sighed heavily. “I meant what I said. You and Steve have a history— one that surpasses ours, James. I’ve known all along.”

 

“Natasha, what are you saying?” Steve croaked. 

 

“That there isn’t a choice to make,” she murmured, “not if I’m not here.”

 

A metal hand reached up to catch her’s, holding her palm flat to his face. Bucky tightened his grip on Natasha’s hand. “No.” He cleared his throat, willing away the gathering tears that she had sparked. “Why does it have to be like this?”

 

“It would always be Steve, wouldn’t it?” Natasha asked quietly. 

 

“I could never choose.” Bucky looked to Steve pleadingly, still clutching Natasha’s hand. “I don’t want to.”

 

“What do we do, Bucky?” Steve wondered aloud. 

 

“We try.” Bucky let go of his grip on Natasha, drawing both of them to him, one under each arm. “Screw conventions.”

 

“You’re not angry?” Natasha challenged suspiciously. 

 

“The only thing I’m angry about,” Bucky growled, “is that I wasn’t there to see it.”

 

Steve cracked a smile, glancing wickedly at Natasha. “That could be arranged.”

 

Bucky tilted his head towards the trees. “I know just the place.”   
  


* * *

  
They stumbled through the darkening forest like a gaggle of teenagers, hands skimming each other’s arms and not-so-secrets smiles being passed around. T’challa had shown him glass-walled structures at the edge of the trees, maybe half a mile outside of the main city, before Bucky had insisted on wandering alone. 

 

_ “What’re they for?” Bucky asked in wonder, one hand pressed to the glass as he studied. _

 

_ T’challa laughed warmly. “Guests who would prefer not to stay in the palace.”  _

 

When they reached the steps, Bucky wasn’t surprised to find that the door pushed open easily. T’challa seemed to know something he hadn’t. Nat and Steve followed in behind him, surveying the interior. Wicker furniture, exposed beams, and curtains that could block out the sunlight. It was a single room, with a large bed in one corner, and a door that presumably hid the bathroom in another. 

 

“Reminds me of the beach,” Nat appraised.

 

“Which one?” Steve wondered, tipping his head to look at her. 

 

She laughed, not bothering to answer his question before she toed off her sneakers. “What does trying look like, James?”

 

Her bluntness never failed to catch him off guard. Bucky’s brows knit together in thought, looking from the bed to Nat and back again. Steve’s hand brushed Bucky’s jaw, and it was everything he could do not to suck in a harsh breath, the simple touch sending shivers through him. 

 

“I’m still pissed,” he said slowly, “that you two had some fun, but didn’t let me watch.”

 

Bucky could see Nat’s cheeks flush, even in the dim light. 

 

“Maybe you’re not the only one who wants to watch,” she purred, padding across the floor on bare feet to run her hand up his thigh. “Steve was telling me a story… That I think deserves a reenactment.” 

 

Steve made a noise low in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a moan, with his eyes trained on Nat’s fingers. “And me? I’m supposed to be the show pony, but not get to watch?” 

 

Natasha stretched onto her toes to press her lips to Bucky’s ear. “I think we should give him something to look at,” she breathed out as her hand found his waistband. 

 

Shivering once again from the overwhelming proximity of the pair of them, Bucky tapped on Steve’s chest and pointed to the bed. “Gimme something to look at, Rogers, and I’ll return the favor.”

 

Nearly tripping over his own feet, Steve landed on the bed and wrestled with the button of his jeans before shoving them down around his knees. It took every ounce of Bucky’s willpower to keep his eyes on Steve while Natasha was tugging down his own pants, her nimble fingers wrapped around his cock. Steve raised a shaking hand, cupping his cock through his boxers with eyes flitting between Bucky and Nat. 

 

“You’re sure?” Bucky asked hoarsely, letting the question hang in the air.

 

“Yes,” Steve said approvingly. 

 

“I’m sure,” Natasha affirmed as she sunk to her knees. 

 

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed as her tongue met the tip of his cock. “Natalia.”   
  
Steve was engrossed in watching them, his own task forgotten, until Bucky pinned him with blazing eyes. He stood to discard the jeans and boxers altogether, then peeled off his shirt as an afterthought, bare under Bucky’s gaze. As Nat’s lips worked at Bucky’s cock, Steve slipped a hand around his own, keeping time with Natasha’s movements. 

 

When Bucky opened his mouth, any thoughts he’d had at the ready melted away, replaced by only the moan that Natasha was teasing out of him. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he peeled it off, tossing it somewhere in the general vicinity of the chair on the opposite side of the room. “Nat,” he panted, “I’m beginning to think you’re overdressed.” 

 

She pulled away from him, casting a glance at Steve long enough to give his naked body an appreciative survey, before standing up to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Then why don’t you fix it,” she offered, toying with one of the straps of her tank top. 

 

Not needing to be told twice, Bucky slid the straps away from her shoulders, shoving the fabric down her torso to reveal her breasts. He could see that Steve was still watching them, though his hand had stilled.  _ I promised a show.  _ Bucky leaned over to take one of her nipples between his lips, one hand holding Natasha’s waist as she arched her back to meet his mouth. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve sputtered as he looked on. 

 

Natasha turned her head to look at Steve, biting her lip as Bucky toyed with her. “We will,” she taunted Steve, “if you last that long.”

 

Steve pushed off of the edge of the bed, taking a few quick steps to slip his hand into Natasha’s shorts. “Super soldier serum,” he reminded her as he slid his fingers lower, “I can do this all day.”

 

She leaned forward to capture Steve’s mouth, biting his lip as she did. Bucky straightened up to watch the pair of them, feeling himself harden further at the sight of his past lovers together. Ignoring his straining cock, Bucky slid Natasha’s tank top down her legs, steadying her as she stepped out of it. Unbuttoning her shorts, he found that she wasn’t wearing anything under them. Bucky let them fall to the floor, eyes fixed on the way Steve’s fingers were working their way in and out. 

 

Watching the way they moved together dispelled any nerves that were still lingering at the back of Bucky’s mind. Natasha’s hips bucked around Steve’s fingers, and his free hand was tracing her curves as if he were committing them to memory. Bucky’s unattended cock was beginning to ooze with anticipation. Taking it in his hand, he stroked absently, just enough to get some friction to go with the visceral visual stimulation before him. 

 

When Steve’s lips left Natasha’s hungry mouth, in favor of sinking his teeth into her shoulder, Natasha turned her head to look at Bucky, one hand reaching for him. He stepped closer, gasping when her hand closed around his cock. Steve placed a few feather-light kisses on Nat’s shoulder where his teeth had just been, then leaned in to kiss Bucky. 

 

Steve wasn’t kissing Bucky the way he’d been kissing Natasha— to Bucky, those kisses had looked hungry, and maybe even downright needy, driven by instinct. But the lips that were on Bucky’s were none of those things. Instead, Steve’s kisses were tender and longing, lingering with every shift in his movement. It was almost enough to make Bucky break away, the swell of emotions in his chest threatening to bloom into tears, but he made due with hooking an arm around Steve’s waist and holding on. 

 

Bucky wondered how they looked, knotted together in a tangle of limbs, with Steve’s hand still buried in Natasha, Bucky clinging to Steve, and Nat’s hands now slipping over each of their cocks in tandem. The thought made him groan against Steve’s mouth, nipping at Steve’s lip with need. “Need you,” Bucky breathed as he pulled back just a fraction. “Stevie, I need you.” 

 

Natasha’s hands stalled, looking between the two of them with parted lips and nearly black eyes. “Can I watch?” 

 

There was no hint of classic Romanoff sarcasm in her voice, Bucky noticed. He looked at Steve, leaving the question for him to answer. 

 

“Isn’t that how we got into this whole mess in the first place?” Steve recounted. “Birthday?” 

 

“Birthday,” Nat affirmed, stepping away from them with a soft whine at the loss of Steve’s hand. Kicking her shorts away from her feet, she stepped gingerly to the chair and collapsed into it, attention on the pair of men. 

 

“You told her about Germany?” Bucky queried. “ _ That  _ started it?” 

 

Steve shook his head, pointing over Bucky’s shoulder to Nat. “Russia started it. Germany finished it.”

  
Bucky shook his head incredulously, hardly believing that they were having this conversation. “D’ya think there’s lube around here somewhere?”

 

Flushing with embarrassment, Steve felt around the floor for his jeans, coming back up with a palm-sized travel bottle. “Not one of those things you leave home without, right?”

 

Nat snorted. “You’re no boy scout, but you’re a piece of work, Steve.”

 

Steve ran his hand through his hair, looking back to Bucky shyly. “The lady wants to see Germany.”

 

Striding to the bed with purpose, Bucky gripped one of the four-poster style poles, looking back at Steve. “Then show her Germany,” he taunted, back arched to put his ass on display. “Just fuck me, Steve.” 

 

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. 

  
Fumbling with the lube, Steve slicked himself, grasping the base of his now-throbbing cock. “Okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” Bucky muttered, pressing his forehead to the polished wood.

 

The affirmation was all Steve must have been waiting for, moments later pressing against Bucky’s entrance, one hand gripping Bucky’s hip for balance. He sank in slowly, gauging his movements to Bucky’s moans.

 

Natasha must have decided the chair wasn’t a satisfactory view, because the next thing Bucky saw was pale limbs through the darkness, slipping onto the bed and propped up against the pillows. She tweaked at one of her own nipples, fingers slipping between her thighs as the sound of Steve’s throaty moans started to fill the room. 

 

“Fuck, Steve, Steve, Steve,” Bucky babbled, slumping forward as Steve’s hands gripped his hips hard, increasing the pace. 

 

“If you can’t keep quiet,” Steve asserted, “I’ll have to make you be quiet.”

 

_ Just like Germany,  _ Bucky thought. Steve wasn’t pulling any punches. “I guess you’ll have to make me,” he challenged. 

 

In an instant, one of Steve’s hands was covering Bucky’s mouth, the other gripping at Bucky’s wrists to tug him more upright. Steve’s thrusts against his back, paired with the way his cock was sandwiched between his belly and the bedframe, was making it hard for Bucky to hold back. He opened his eyes, remembering Natasha’s proximity, just in time to see her writhing in ecstacy at her own hands. She was still watching them through half-open lids, biting her lip as she came. 

 

“Natasha,” Steve stammered, stilling his hips. “C’mere.”

 

She withdrew her fingers with a wet sound, crawling down the bed on hands and knees to reach them. 

 

Steve pulled his hand away from Bucky’s mouth, leaning down to whisper to both of them. “I’m going to keep fucking you, Bucky,” he ordered in a voice that oozed with Captain America’s take-charge attitude, “while you bury your face in Natasha’s pussy. Do you think you can do that for me?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky barely choked out, still reeling from the fullness of Steve’s cock. 

 

Nat sat on the edge of the bed, nearly hanging off completely, waiting for them to readjust. Steve withdrew, making Bucky cry out at his absence, just long enough to let Bucky plant his hands on either side of Natasha’s legs and lean down to lick at her clit. At the sound of Natasha’s catch-breath, Steve eased back into Bucky, hands settling on Bucky’s shoulders for stability and eyes trained on Natasha’s face. 

 

Bucky was lost in memories, caught in between the two of them. The sweetness of Natasha under his tongue, the satisfying burn of Steve inside him, and the cacophony of noises the pair of them were making. His cock was straining so hard it  _ hurt.  _ It was a miracle that he was keeping it together, rather than falling apart between the two of them. 

 

_ Falling apart under them is exactly what I want to do.  _

 

Tapping at Natasha’s thigh to get her attention, Bucky pulled away from her. “I have an idea.”

 

Steve pulled away once again, slower this time. _ Probably close himself,  _ Bucky thought. 

 

“I want…” He struggled to find the words, wondering how to tell them, rather than show them.  _ To hell with it.  _ Taking a page out of Natasha’s book, he tried again. “I want to fuck both of you. At once.” 

 

Natasha cocked her head to the side. “I’m for it, but how?”

 

Steve stepped back, looking at the bed in thought. “Lay down, Nat.”

 

She scooted back on the bed, laying flat on her back. “Like this?”

  
Nodding, Steve pointed to her legs. “Down a bit.”

 

Bucky slipped his hands under Nat’s knees, pulling her closer to his waist. “Here,” he said softly. Looking over his shoulder at Steve, he frowned. “That only solves half of it.”

 

“Wait,” Steve said slowly. “You two first. Then I’ll show you, Buck.”

 

Natasha spread her legs wider, nodding to Bucky. “Please, James,” she murmured. 

 

Bucky didn’t realize he was shaking until she laid her hand over his, shh-ing him. It wasn’t fear that left him quaking, but rather anticipation. As he pushed into her, Natasha drew in a sharp breath, squeezing Bucky’s hand encouragingly. 

 

“Just like that,” Nat moaned. 

 

When he pushed in further, Bucky felt Steve at his back once again. 

 

“Lean,” Steve coached.

  
Bucky got the idea, crystal clear. He leaned over Natasha, close enough to kiss her, and planted his feet wider apart. Steve slipped into him, thrusting hard— hard enough to encourage Bucky to thrust into Nat. 

 

Their rhythm could use some work, a little awkward and out of time, but doing the job enough that Bucky couldn’t hear himself think over the sound of Natasha’s croons and Steve’s grunts. He realized that his own moans were intermixed too, the tenor to Steve’s baritone and Nat’s soprano, an unpracticed melody that still carried their tune of collective pleasure. 

 

“Nat,” Bucky gasped, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’m so close.”

 

She ground her hips up to meet his thrust. “Come for me, James.”

 

Steve quickened his pace. “Come for us, Bucky,” he encouraged, resting a hand on Natasha’s leg. 

 

Their words, the feeling of the two of them, was enough to tip Bucky over the edge, spilling into Natasha moments before Steve followed suit inside him, collapsing against Bucky’s back. 

 

He didn’t remember disentangling from each other, but the next thing Bucky knew, Natasha had slipped on Steve’s forgotten shirt and was cradled against his chest, with Steve pressed to his back. It felt safe. 

  
_ Feels like home,  _ he thought as he drifted to sleep.  _ They feel like home.  _ _   
_


	3. Steve

                                                                                                                                      

 

Steve awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows. _Right— the curtains._ They hadn’t drawn them last night, too sated and exhausted by the time everyone collapsed into bed.

 

One of his arms was pinned under Bucky’s still-sleeping body. Steve nuzzled the line of scars along Bucky’s shoulder, where metal joined flesh, before pressing a soft kiss to his back. Bucky didn’t stir.

 

Steve tugged his arm away carefully, rising up on his elbow to find Natasha on Bucky’s other side, Bucky’s metal arm cradling her against his chest. Her hair was blazing golden in the morning light, something Steve still couldn’t get used to. Maybe one day, when this was all over, they’d be able to see her vibrant red once again.

 

Falling flat on his back, Steve allowed his mind to wander through the past two days.

 

He couldn’t have fathomed, in his wildest dreams, that things would play out the way they did. That he and Natasha would have harried sex in the middle of their shared kitchen, hiding from both the federal government and their fellow teammates. Even more, that Bucky would be awake so soon, when Shuri had cautioned him six months before that it could take years to figure out how to repair the synapsi in Bucky’s brain.

 

Steve may have dreamt of Bucky, and even Natasha, time and time again, but never. . . together. The three of them had fallen together in an easy rhythm, exploring and touching as if it were nothing to bat an eye at. _Maybe it doesn’t have to be._ When he and Bucky had been young, Steve would have never entertained the notion. But now? When the world wasn’t as rigid?

 

“Maybe anything is possible,” Steve whispered under his breath, not wanting to wake his bedmates.

 

“Steven Grant,” Bucky’s voice was still thick with sleep, “I can hear you.”

 

Steve sat upright, staring down at Bucky’s still-closed eyes and not bothering to hide his smile. “G'morning to you too, Buck.”

 

Bucky cracked one eye open, looking up at Steve through his lashes and squinting against the sunlight. “What are you doin’?”

 

“Just thinking. Nothing to worry about.” Steve ran his hand up Bucky’s chest to cup his chin. “Go back to sleep.”

 

Natasha stirred in Bucky’s arms, groaning against the sunlight as she turned to bury her face in his chest. Steve couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he looked at the pair of them.

 

“Steve,” Natasha’s voice came from somewhere against Bucky’s sternum, “get over here.”

 

Bucky scooted over as Steve got out of the bed just long enough to slip under the sheet on the other side. Slinging an arm over Natasha’s hip, Steve rested his hand in the dip of Bucky’s waist. Everything felt warm— not because it was drenched in sunlight, but because it all felt _right._

 

Settled deep into the pillows, with Natasha’s head tucked under his chin and the sound of Bucky’s familiar breathing, Steve couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
